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Here are samples of what each of
us reads at The Sepoy Rebellion's performances:
Marguerite Maria Rivas
Wil Wynn
Allan Douglass Coleman
For our audio and video samples, click here for the Multimedia menu.
Marguerite Maria Rivas
Brooklyn Casket Company
"Love alters not with his brief
hours and weeks/ But bears it out even to the edge of doom."
"I want to be buried with you. "
He whispers in the parking lot
of the Country Club Diner.
As if on cue,
The Brooklyn Casket Company truck
rolls into view -- punctuates his words.
Somehow we are not surprised.
Our dust blending,
will we become earth together?
Will wild violets sprout
our way to eternity?
Here, in this hoop of time
in which we live,
commingled ancestors haunt me
at the prospect of
recombinant DNA communion
and post-mortem matrimony.
Yet, somehow I'm sure
that it is they who have sent
The Brooklyn Casket Company today.
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Wil Wynn
3 winter poems
winter storm warning
Snow, wind, cold
and bitter memories:
tug of war at
February's door.
Above a distant horizon
of roses
the moon arises
silvery and pure
to greet the sleeping
dogs of March.
Tornadoes in the Midwest,
Rain in the South,
Fog in the Northeast,
Nostalgia in my heart.
Outside, a cold wind
whips up anxiety
in the bare trees
chinese garden
snug harbor
lies still
quiet fog
sleeping breeze
ghostly buildings
quietly asleep
dream granite dreams
heads hidden
cloud and mist.
cradled
by pensive woods
embraced
by winter sleep
unborn garden
waits for life's
multicolored
touch of spring.
out of the arms of one love
out of the arms of one love
into the hands of another
out of the ice of one love
into the fire of another
into the passion of flesh
soul imperfect
aching time
out of the arms of one love
into the weapons of another
from ridges of despair
into depths of exultation
out of the lips of yesterday
into the headlock of tomorrow
we move slowly
the ground is treacherous
the rules ever-changing
the multitudes are pining
for drama, melancholy,
resplendent news.
we leap
out of the then of one love
into the what-now of another.
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Allan Douglass Coleman
Chinese Duck Pop
Half-remembered high-school
lore, this recipe for ancient
magic from a nameless
oriental sage: Taking one
live (and uncomplaining)
duck, reach all the way
in from the rear until
your hand emerges
from its mouth. Then firmly
grasp the beak, in a smooth
motion swiftly pulling the bird
back through its own asshole,
upon which -- with a loud
popping noise (finger inside
cheek here for required sound
effect) -- it vanishes
into the startled air,
astounding everyone.
(Published in Koja, No. 2, Summer 1998.)
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